


short stuff and works you dont wanna read

by rat (spectromaniac)



Category: TF2 - Fandom, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, M/M, Self-Harm, teams are irrelevant, therell be lots of fluff in the future but for now just Avert your Eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectromaniac/pseuds/rat
Summary: This is just gonna be where I dump whatever tf2 short fic I end up writing when im tired and yearning
Kudos: 11





	short stuff and works you dont wanna read

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for this one: mentions of self harm and descriptions of things related to self harm (no explicit self-harm actions are described), suicidal ideation and allusion to eating disorder. Poor Scout.. let’s all pour one out for the lad, ey?

Scout ran his index and pointer fingers softly over wet cheeks. He was long done gasping for air through his sobs and now lays with a vacant mind on his simple twin sized mattress. His face was sticky and, god, he hated that, yet he is too lethargic to clean his face. Not that his face is at all the most urgent situation at the moment. He let himself trail down his body with his hand; he felt his somehow muscly yet scrawny chest and he could feel his lungs slowly inflating and sinking. He grazed past his abdomen because truly god forbid he touch it. Sometimes, after becoming aware of his scrawny body, he’ll feel as though he’s a bloated corpse waiting for the rigor mortis to finally subside. Scout then felt out the latest damage taken to his thighs. He doesn’t mind his legs but he feels as its such a shame he goes and ruins the perfect shape with his incessant scratching. scratching? That’s probably not the right word for it but it’s the only word he’s comfortable using. Scout rose his hand to meet his line of sight. Now he has to get up; he can stand the conglomerate of died blood on his thigh but no, not on his hands. Scout swung his legs over the mattress and hopped straight up. This was a bad decision on Jeremy’s part, as he immediately felt overwhelmingly lightheaded. He stumbled far enough forward to lean against the door frame, leaving a smudge of blood on the edge of the frame. He quietly crept to the small washroom, licking his fingers on the way as to avoid any other prints. What Scout saw in the mirror was sad. Much more sad to see himself than for any onlookers to view. He ran the water at half pressure while he looked for a washcloth. The warm water felt nice compressed to his face. This comfort was unfortunately lessened by his dread of doing the same to his open wounds. Scout winces for a second but sighs as the discomfort fades and all he feels is the lukewarm water on his freshly opened pores. Scout should know better than to stand idly in his state but he has not much to preoccupy his thoughts with so he drifted to the ever so slowly filling sink in front of him. It’d be too easy to just submerge his face into the water; for an amount of time that at least gives him the panic and agency that drowning would give him. Scout’s heart is beating faster and faster. He turns the water off. He wrings the wash cloth out. He returns to his twin mattress and he falls asleep, hoping this cycle won’t last forever.


End file.
